


Be a Pal, Courfeyrac!

by bewareofitalics



Series: The ABC Club [4]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU, Baby-Sitters Club fusion, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareofitalics/pseuds/bewareofitalics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School, baby-sitting, the ABC Club, and a friend who wants to sleep with him.  It's just a typical day for Courfeyrac!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be a Pal, Courfeyrac!

Ah, Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday! Time for two whole days free of the confines of Musain Middle School! I’m all for education, but there’s education, and then there’s _school_. Five days a week of annoying teachers, disgusting food, and pointless rules is more than enough. Maybe high school will be better. I can’t wait to get there, it feels like I’ve been in eighth grade forever.

While I was rummaging through my locker, making sure I had everything I needed for the weekend, I heard a voice behind me. “Courfeyrac?” It was my friend Marius. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” 

I banged my forehead on the locker next to mine. “Marius, do you ever listen to the words coming out of your mouth?”

Marius looked confused. (He does that a lot.) “I- yes? Why, what did I-” I watched him mentally sort through his words, and could tell when he figured it out because his eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh! I meant, can I sleep over? I had another fight with my grandpa.”

“Yeah, sure!” I said. “But I’m baby-sitting and then I have an ABC Club meeting, so you’re on your own until six. Is that okay?”

“I guess so,” said Marius.

“Great, I’ll see you then. But now I’ve gotta run, bye!” I picked up my backpack, slammed my locker shut, and raced out of the school.

You’re totally confused now, aren’t you? Don’t worry, stick with me and I’ll tell you everything there is to know. In case you missed it, I’m Courfeyrac. Eighth grader, former New Yorker, heartthrob, and baby-sitter extraordinaire. I belong to the ABC Club, which is really more like a business. A baby-sitting business. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday my friends and I have meetings, and parents call us when they need a baby-sitter. With nine experienced sitters at the end of the line, they’re sure to find someone. It’s a really great system! Aside from baby-sitting, our mission is teaching. (See, I told you I was all for education!) We help little kids learn how to read, and we help the older ones with their homework. We try to make learning fun, unlike some teachers I could mention.

Marius isn’t in the ABC Club. (You’ll meet the people who _are_ in it soon, I promise!) I brought him to a meeting once, but wow, was _that_ ever a disaster. It turned out he thinks no one should baby-sit until they’re at least eighteen, and at the time, the club members were all twelve. (We’re thirteen now.) Nowadays, Marius and I avoid the subject of baby-sitting as much as possible. I don’t blame him much for his opinions – he’s always been really sheltered, and has only just started thinking for himself. While most of us in the club started baby-sitting when we were eleven, I can see how Marius, with only himself for reference, would think that wasn’t mature enough.

In some ways, Marius is really smart. He skipped sixth grade, so now he’s in eighth grade even though he’s only twelve. I got to know him last year when we were both new to Musain Middle School. (I had just moved to Musain, Connecticut from New York, New York.) Marius wasn’t only new to MMS, he was new to public school. He used to go to private school, but his rich grandfather has been getting less rich, so now he doesn’t anymore. But they do still live in a real, live mansion! And Marius’s grandfather is still a snob. You’d think that, being from New York, I’d be used to snobs, and I am, but Marius’s grandfather is something else. It’s no wonder they fight all the time.

But enough about Marius, let’s get to the ABC Club! That’s where I headed after baby-sitting for the Magnons. I got to Grantaire’s room – club headquarters – at 5:25, with five minutes to spare before the meeting started. Jehan had beaten me to my favorite seat on top of Grantaire’s laundry hamper, so I shook my fist at him. He stuck out his tongue in return, and we both laughed. 

Bahorel laughed, too. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the hamper, and Jehan was resting his feet on his shoulders. Hmmm. Was something going on with them? They’ve always been good friends, but is their friendship turning into something… _more_? (Imagine me waggling my eyebrows here. I’m really good at it!)

I wanted to do more than shake my fist at Bahorel and Jehan’s clothes. Bahorel was wearing red track pants and an eye-searing Hawaiian shirt, and Jehan was wearing this… _thing_ …that I swear started out life as a literal potato sack. Their dress sense hurts me, honestly it does. I bet they do it on purpose. I bet that every morning they inspect each other’s outfits through the windows (they’re next door neighbors, and can see into each other’s rooms) to make sure they clash as much as possible. 

As for me, I was wearing designer acid wash jeans, a matching jean jacket, and a black turtleneck. It was all very sophisticated and very New York. If only I could take Bahorel and Jehan to Bloomingdale’s!

The beanbag chair, as usual, was occupied by Joly and Bossuet. Guess what – they’re dating each other. Guess what else – they also have a girlfriend, Musichetta. Talk about sophisticated! I don’t think any of my New York friends have done _that_ yet.

Joly and Bossuet (and Bahorel and Jehan?) aren’t the only inter-club romance. Grantaire, our host and resident cynic, is totally head-over-heels for Enjolras, our fearless leader and resident idealist. (I can’t say I blame Grantaire – Enjolras is drop-dead gorgeous. I’ve caught just about everyone staring at him at one time or another.) And I’m pretty sure Feuilly has been flirting with me. Or, okay, I’m pretty sure I’ve been flirting with Feuilly, and he usually goes along with it. But not everyone I flirt with flirts back! (I’ll get you someday, Combeferre! Enjolras, you’re probably hopeless.) And unlike some people, Feuilly doesn’t mind when I ramble about New York. Oh, sure, his eyes glaze over when I start on shopping, but he really likes hearing about all the different kinds of people I knew there. 

It might be weird that all this is going on, but hey, we _are_ a good-looking bunch. Well. Except for Grantaire. Maybe he’ll grow into his face someday.

By the way, I knew about Joly and Bossuet before they admitted it to the rest of us, and I knew about Grantaire’s crush before he admitted it to himself. I’m something of an expert on matters of the heart, even though I’ve never had a steady girlfriend or boyfriend. (I _have_ had a bunch of dates and a bunch of kisses – some even with tongue!) I’m not always right about these things, but I’m really proud of myself when I am.

I still needed a seat. The director chair and desk chair were empty, but I didn’t dare take either – they were reserved for Enjolras and Combeferre, our president and secretary. (Grantaire is our vice-president, because we use his room and his phone line, and Feuilly is our treasurer, because he’s good with money.) Instead, I headed over to Grantaire’s bed. Feuilly was sitting on the floor with his back against it. “Pardon me, sir,” I said, “but is this seat taken?”

Feuilly looked up at me and smiled. “I was saving it for my friend Courfeyrac. Have you seen him?”

“Hmmm,” I said. “About yea high, snappy dresser, super cute?”

“That’s the one,” said Feuilly.

“Then I’m afraid I haven’t seen him,” I said. “But surely he can’t be a very good friend, or he wouldn’t have abandoned you here. So if I may…”

“Oh, sit down and shut up,” said a voice from underneath the bed. 

I looked down, startled. What I had thought were gross old sneakers were- well, actually they _were_ gross old sneakers, but Grantaire’s feet were still in them. The rest of him was under the bed. He must have been looking for the junk food he hides down there. “So sorry to disturb you,” I said as I settled down next to Feuilly. “Find anything good?”

Grantaire grunted.

At 5:28, Enjolras swept into the room. He can really make an entrance, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even try. He’s just naturally dramatic, even dressed in his uniform of boring jeans and a boring sweatshirt. I’ve given up trying to get him into something more stylish. Maybe it’s just as well – could the world survive those angelic features, piercing blue eyes, spun gold hair, _and_ a killer wardrobe? 

Combeferre was right behind Enjolras. No one looks twice at Combeferre when Enjolras is around (which is most of the time, they’re best friends) (but they’re not dating, even though for a while I was positive they were), but he’s a really cool guy. Or maybe “cool” isn’t the right word – he’s the nerdiest guy I know. But he’s smart and interesting and funny and a great friend, and he makes nerdy look good.

“Order,” said Enjolras as soon as Grantaire’s digital clock turned from 5:29 to 5:30. The rest of us (minus Grantaire, who was still under the bed) snapped to attention. “Any club business?” Enjolras continued.

Grantaire finally emerged, holding two bags. “Gummy worms,” he said triumphantly. He tossed the bag of gummy worms to Bahorel, who caught it easily. “And whole wheat pretzels.” He handed the pretzel bag to Enjolras, carefully not looking at him.

I exchanged glances with Feuilly. (There might have been eyebrow waggling involved.) Grantaire the junk food addict bought not only pretzels, but _whole wheat_ pretzels? This was _serious_. Now, how would Enjolras the health food nut take it?

“Thank you,” said Enjolras, taking one pretzel and handing the rest to Combeferre, “but is there any _real_ club business?”

Ouch.

Fortunately, the phone rang then, and the meeting started in earnest. By 6:00, the gummy worms and pretzels were gone, and we’d lined up new jobs for Jehan, Joly, Feuilly, Grantaire, and me. Then we disbanded, leaving Grantaire to sulk on his own.

“Are you sitting tonight?” Bossuet asked me as we started walking home.

“Not unless you count Marius,” I said.

“Oh, Marius,” said Joly. “I say he counts.”

“He’s not _that_ bad,” I protested. “Anymore. Maybe.”

Bossuet laughed. (If anyone has the right to not like Marius, it’s Bossuet. Mr. Blondeau once gave him detention for covering when Marius skipped class. But Bossuet never holds grudges.) “He does try. Who knows, we may make a reasonable being of him yet!”

“But not a baby-sitter,” said Joly.

“Until he’s at least eighteen,” said Bossuet.

“Even then, would you leave your kid alone with him?”

“I have a kid? Just my luck that I don’t remember making it!”

“You _guys_ ,” I said, laughing.

When we reached my house, I waved good-bye to Joly and Bossuet. Marius was sitting on my front steps. “Hey!” I said. “You haven’t been here all this time, have you?”

Marius shook his head. “I stopped off at home for this,” he said, holding up a small overnight bag. 

“Ah, good. Well, come on in!” I unlocked the door. “Are you hungry? Dinner’s not until my mom gets home, but we can have snacks.” (My mom works late a lot. My dad still lives in New York. Divorce sucks.)

“I’m okay,” said Marius, following me into the house. “I don’t want to impose. More than I already am, I mean.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. I took two apples from the fruit bowl and handed one to Marius, then sat down at the kitchen table. Marius sat opposite me, facing the window that looked out on the street. “So, what did your grandpa do this time?”

“He insulted my dad,” said Marius gloomily. “Again.” He nibbled on his apple.

“I see.” There’s this whole big story about Marius’s dad. Marius’s grandpa hated him, but his mom married him anyway, and basically got disowned, and then she died, and Marius’s grandpa took him away from his dad. Marius was raised thinking his dad hated him. Then, the summer before seventh grade, his dad died, and it turned out he’d loved him after all. It sounds exciting from the outside, but it really messed with Marius’s head. “So what are you going to-” I stopped talking, because Marius clearly wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring at something so hard I thought his eyes were going to fall out. A piece of apple did fall out of his mouth. “…Marius? What’s up?”

Marius swallowed the apple bits that had managed not to fall. “ _Who_ ,” he said, pointing out the window, “is _that_?”

I twisted around in my chair. There was a girl outside, laughing and looking like she was waiting for someone to catch up. She was dressed nicely but conservatively, in a flowered jumper over a ruffled white shirt. “Oh, that’s Cosette. I baby-sat for her a few times last year.”

“You baby-sat for _her_?” exclaimed Marius. “But she’s _beautiful_!” 

Beautiful? Since when was Marius interested in girls? I shrugged. “She’s only eleven.” 

“I’m only twelve,” said Marius. He was still staring.

“You’ve got a point there,” I said. Come to think of it, I bet Cosette would like Marius. She’s more sensible than he is, but she gets dreamy sometimes too, and they like some of the same books. I looked out the window again. Cosette’s dad had caught up with her, and they were starting to walk away. “Want me to introduce you?”

Marius’s stare turned horrified. “Oh, _no_! She’d _hate_ me!”

“How do you know?” I asked. “You don’t know anything about her!”

“I know she’s perfect,” said Marius. “And all girls hate me. They follow me around and giggle.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s because they think you’re cute, doofus.” Or more than cute. Marius is well on his way to being almost as gorgeous as Enjolras. Even his _nostrils_ are good-looking, it’s so unfair.

“Yeah right.” Marius sighed deeply. “I’ll just worship her from afar. Do you think I’ll see her at school?”

“She goes to St. Bernard’s, so, no.”

“Oh.” By this time, Cosette was no longer visible from the kitchen window, so Marius went to the front hall to get a last glimpse of her. “Will I ever see her again?”

“Hello, did I not just offer to introduce you?”

“But I can’t _talk_ to her! What would I _say_?”

“Talking to girls,” I said, “happens to be my specialty. Become my pupil, and soon you and Cosette will be worshipping each other from right up close!”

“Really?” said Marius.

“Really,” I said. “So? How about it?”

Marius hesitated, glanced off in the direction Cosette had gone, took a deep breath, and turned back to me. “Okay,” he said.

“Excellent!” I said. “Lesson one begins now. First, take that pot and fill it with water.”

Marius blinked at me. “What?”

“Girls love a man who can cook,” I explained. “Plus, my mom will flip out if dinner’s not ready when she gets home. Hop to it!”

Marius hopped. I grinned. Ready or not, Cosette, here we come!


End file.
